Any Time, Any Place
Page 84
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She’d only gotten more beautiful with age. She walked with the power of a woman who knew how to get what she wanted. Her strawberry-colored hair now hung halfway down her back, still curly and wild as ever, like silk trapped in fire. Her face had always been a bit too round, her mouth and eyes a bit too wide, and she’d always despised the scattering of freckles across her nose and dotted generously over her white skin. Tristan used to kiss and lick them in an erotic game of connect the dots. She’d never been petite or small-boned—no, her body was all Eve, lush and curvy and ripe like the apple that had tempted her. In New York, he’d rarely met a woman over size 6. Their makeup was always flawless and they regularly visited blow-out salons to kill any curls, and they were all vegetarians who believed in saving the earth. They never looked at him with adoration and always paid their own check, and would instruct the bartender exactly how to make their Skinnygirl martini cocktail.
But he’d come back because he missed her. Wanted her. Was ready to commit for life.
The joke had been on him.
Yet she still haunted him, and it was driving him insane. He’d do anything to move on and move past these leftover emotions from their shared history. Somehow, he’d turned into the lovesick teen with a crush, and the humiliation of it burned through him.
Something had to be done.
The thought took hold, though it was rife with booby traps. She may treat him like shit, but he’d memorized every inch of skin on her body, every expression on her beautiful face. He knew she crinkled her brow when she lied, and tapped her index finger against her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, and shivered uncontrollably when he bit the place where her neck met shoulder.
She still wanted him.
Oh, she hated it as much as he did. It would’ve been so much easier between them to keep a business-type relationship or even a distant, casual friendship. The only reason they bantered and argued and tried to avoid each other was simple.
They wanted to drag each other to bed.
The memory of her naked and vulnerable drifted to his brain, then melted all thinking-cells. He’d been with other women, of course, but no one had given him what Sydney had. The way she’d reached for him with eagerness, her body melting and surrendering to any delicious thing he wanted to do to her, and the adoration in her sea-green eyes that pumped him up with adrenaline and power. No one had come close.
He wondered if any woman ever could.
Tristan rubbed his eyes, picked up his mug, and headed back to his office. They couldn’t keep doing this. Eventually something was going to break. And the more he thought about dealing with all this built-up angst and frustration in bed, the better his new plan looked. Perhaps the only way to move forward was to revisit the past and close the book properly.
All clichés led to one road.
Seduce Sydney.
chapter two
Mama, it’s almost my birthday! Can we get an ice cream cake?” Sydney laughed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her onto her lap. “Of course, you know that’s my favorite. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Have you decided?”
Her daughter tilted her face and scrunched up her nose. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese’s?”
Sydney couldn’t help wincing. It may be a kid’s paradise, but it was a mother’s nightmare. The loud, flashing games; the overexcited children hunting for prize tickets they’d only win enough of to get a spider ring; and the large mouse character who danced in a purple sweater. She always left with a headache.
Maybe she could sneak in a flask filled with wine.
“Sure. Just get me a list and we’ll send out some invitations.”
“Okay. And I want to see Uncle Cal and Morgan and Dalton and Tristan and Uncle Brady. Can they come to my party? ’Cause they’re my family.”
Her chest tightened but she managed a breath. The guilt was manageable this time. Practice did make perfect. “Yes, honey. But we’ll have a cake for you at Uncle Cal’s house, too, and Morgan said she’s making your favorite dish.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yep.” She savored her daughter’s soft body sprawled over her thighs and the scent of her coconut shampoo. Her pink T-shirt boasted her favorite Disney princess, Ariel, because they had the same hair color. Her jeans had pink sparkles and matched the glittery nail polish on her fingers and toes. Already Becca was moving away from her cuddling, demanding more alone time and independence to read, draw, or play on her Kindle. How had so much time flashed by without her realizing it? She used to laugh at mothers warning her to enjoy the toddler years, when she’d just prayed to be out of diapers and formula and sleepless nights. Now her daughter was reading on her own and had a group of friends she insisted on seeing at regular revolving playdates. She was going to be a powerhouse one day, but until Becca grew into that power, Sydney tried to keep her daughter’s temper, and independence, in check. “I can’t believe you’re going to be seven,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“Was Matilda seven in the movie?” Becca asked. “’Cause I want to be like her.”
“I think so. Wait a minute—you want to have terrible parents who lock you up, are mean, and don’t let you go to school?”
Her daughter giggled. “No, but she gets to watch TV all the time. I’d like that part.”
“Brat.” Another giggle. Becca was always trying to finagle more television time. “For now, I need to get started on dinner. Sorry I’ve been working late this week.”
“That’s okay, Mama, but don’t forget about my ballet recital.”
“I’d never forget that. Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“I’ll get there early so I can be in the front row, okay?”
Her daughter’s smile was Sydney’s heaven and earth, exploding her heart with a fierce emotion that still humbled her. From the moment Becca pushed her way into the world, wailing in pissed-off fury, Sydney tumbled into a love that knew no bounds.
The voice she’d shoved deep inside, trapped in a locked box of her own making, slithered up to whisper.
She doesn’t just belong to you . . .
Dear God, it was getting worse. Every day since the Pierce brothers came home, she’d struggled. Her peaceful, ordered existence was shredded to nonexistence. Now she was haunted every day. Every night. Haunted by the truth she’d sworn to hide when Becca was born.
But he’d come back because he missed her. Wanted her. Was ready to commit for life.
The joke had been on him.
Yet she still haunted him, and it was driving him insane. He’d do anything to move on and move past these leftover emotions from their shared history. Somehow, he’d turned into the lovesick teen with a crush, and the humiliation of it burned through him.
Something had to be done.
The thought took hold, though it was rife with booby traps. She may treat him like shit, but he’d memorized every inch of skin on her body, every expression on her beautiful face. He knew she crinkled her brow when she lied, and tapped her index finger against her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, and shivered uncontrollably when he bit the place where her neck met shoulder.
She still wanted him.
Oh, she hated it as much as he did. It would’ve been so much easier between them to keep a business-type relationship or even a distant, casual friendship. The only reason they bantered and argued and tried to avoid each other was simple.
They wanted to drag each other to bed.
The memory of her naked and vulnerable drifted to his brain, then melted all thinking-cells. He’d been with other women, of course, but no one had given him what Sydney had. The way she’d reached for him with eagerness, her body melting and surrendering to any delicious thing he wanted to do to her, and the adoration in her sea-green eyes that pumped him up with adrenaline and power. No one had come close.
He wondered if any woman ever could.
Tristan rubbed his eyes, picked up his mug, and headed back to his office. They couldn’t keep doing this. Eventually something was going to break. And the more he thought about dealing with all this built-up angst and frustration in bed, the better his new plan looked. Perhaps the only way to move forward was to revisit the past and close the book properly.
All clichés led to one road.
Seduce Sydney.
chapter two
Mama, it’s almost my birthday! Can we get an ice cream cake?” Sydney laughed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her onto her lap. “Of course, you know that’s my favorite. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Have you decided?”
Her daughter tilted her face and scrunched up her nose. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese’s?”
Sydney couldn’t help wincing. It may be a kid’s paradise, but it was a mother’s nightmare. The loud, flashing games; the overexcited children hunting for prize tickets they’d only win enough of to get a spider ring; and the large mouse character who danced in a purple sweater. She always left with a headache.
Maybe she could sneak in a flask filled with wine.
“Sure. Just get me a list and we’ll send out some invitations.”
“Okay. And I want to see Uncle Cal and Morgan and Dalton and Tristan and Uncle Brady. Can they come to my party? ’Cause they’re my family.”
Her chest tightened but she managed a breath. The guilt was manageable this time. Practice did make perfect. “Yes, honey. But we’ll have a cake for you at Uncle Cal’s house, too, and Morgan said she’s making your favorite dish.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yep.” She savored her daughter’s soft body sprawled over her thighs and the scent of her coconut shampoo. Her pink T-shirt boasted her favorite Disney princess, Ariel, because they had the same hair color. Her jeans had pink sparkles and matched the glittery nail polish on her fingers and toes. Already Becca was moving away from her cuddling, demanding more alone time and independence to read, draw, or play on her Kindle. How had so much time flashed by without her realizing it? She used to laugh at mothers warning her to enjoy the toddler years, when she’d just prayed to be out of diapers and formula and sleepless nights. Now her daughter was reading on her own and had a group of friends she insisted on seeing at regular revolving playdates. She was going to be a powerhouse one day, but until Becca grew into that power, Sydney tried to keep her daughter’s temper, and independence, in check. “I can’t believe you’re going to be seven,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“Was Matilda seven in the movie?” Becca asked. “’Cause I want to be like her.”
“I think so. Wait a minute—you want to have terrible parents who lock you up, are mean, and don’t let you go to school?”
Her daughter giggled. “No, but she gets to watch TV all the time. I’d like that part.”
“Brat.” Another giggle. Becca was always trying to finagle more television time. “For now, I need to get started on dinner. Sorry I’ve been working late this week.”
“That’s okay, Mama, but don’t forget about my ballet recital.”
“I’d never forget that. Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“I’ll get there early so I can be in the front row, okay?”
Her daughter’s smile was Sydney’s heaven and earth, exploding her heart with a fierce emotion that still humbled her. From the moment Becca pushed her way into the world, wailing in pissed-off fury, Sydney tumbled into a love that knew no bounds.
The voice she’d shoved deep inside, trapped in a locked box of her own making, slithered up to whisper.
She doesn’t just belong to you . . .
Dear God, it was getting worse. Every day since the Pierce brothers came home, she’d struggled. Her peaceful, ordered existence was shredded to nonexistence. Now she was haunted every day. Every night. Haunted by the truth she’d sworn to hide when Becca was born.
